A Shattered Family
by TheWitchNextDoor
Summary: Drift finds a familiar face among the wreckage and vents his fury. Megatron reflects on his biggest failure in life. [Shattered Glass AU ; Megamom AU]
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, all props to the right people, etc., etc.

This is again inspired by the "Megamom" AU of Meridianbarony over on Tumblr. Check out all the stuff on their masterpost it's way cooler than my lame stuff.

 **Warning:** Mentions of severed helms and mistreatment of the dead. Also cussing. (always expect cussing)

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Drift let his optics wander as he strolled leisurely across the battlefield, taking in the carnage and destruction the Autobots always left behind. It was a truly terrible thing to behold, and it filled him with an odd sense of pride. He was one of them; a champion for the winning side, as he was always meant to be. This was yet another taste of victory, something he was rapidly becoming addicted to. He had never been particularly bothered by the aftermath of battles. These were fallen soldiers, a necessary part of any war. It seemed pointless to grieve for those too weak to survive. Something glinted in the corner of his eye; he wasn't sure what compelled him to stop, why that glimmer of gold caught his eye, but he nudged a bit of debris out of the way with his pedes. A severed helm was unearthed, and familiarity gripped him; it was someone he had once knew. A prickling feeling raced up his arm, and he clenched his servos to resist the urge to rub at the Autobot symbol on his arm, painted over permanently scored metal. He never felt regret, or shame or guilt, but that damn _sensation_ whenever he looked a Decepticon never stopped, a constant reminder of the emblem he had once worn.

Anger filled him suddenly; a burning, directionless fury that had his servos shaking. He had done everything to separate himself from those Cons. He had painted over the whites and blues of his creators; he'd abandoned his swords in favor of guns, a weapon he could easily slaughter with; he had even taken up the designation Deadlock. Not a single Autobot knew his true heritage, knew just what Megatron was to him, not even the great Optimus Prime who had known him in another life. (Though perhaps that was to be contributed to the fact he was as eager to erase his past as Drift was.) He had turned his back on his carrier, slaughtered bots he had once called friend, spat on everything he had ever been raised to believe – hadn't he proved he was an Autobot? And yet here was this nobody of a Decepticon, mocking him, daring to accuse him with those spark-less eyes. Drift sneered; he kicked the helm with all his might, a metallic clang ringing out as the abused helm soared through the air. Several optics flashed in his direction, the handful of other Autobots making their way across the battlefield giving him looks that ranged from curiosity to resentment. As quickly as they took note of him, they turned away, either disinterested in his actions or unwilling bother with a conflict at the moment.

Drift – no, _Deadlock_ stood up straight and marched across the battlefield. This was where he belonged, thriving amongst the dead and dying. He was a soldier, a sniper, an assassin. He was stronger, stronger than a Decepticon and their hypocritical morals could ever be. He was an Autobot, and he would kill anyone who said otherwise.

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 **He's got a lot of anger, if you couldn't tell.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : Still own nothing.

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Megatron had made plenty of mistakes in his lifetime. There were more failures and disappointments than he could count, and he could deal with that. Loss and war went hand in hand; sometimes you had to suffer for change. There were still things that haunted him at night, screams and gunfire filled his processor even while he recharge, but he accepted it. He had started this war, and he had to finish it, and he would take all the punishment it earned him – all of it, that is, except for Drift. Only one regret pained him above all else, only one failure filled him with true shame. He had been betrayed before, by people he trusted and even those he loved, but he just couldn't accept this one. Somehow, somewhere, he had failed his creation. Perhaps he had never really done right by him at all. He remembered that day, so long ago, he had awoken to find he had birthed a sparkling in recharge. He hadn't even known he was carrying; he'd been a gladiator, constructed cold, with no experience or knowledge of sparklings. Maybe it would have been better to have given the little bitlet up. He had certainly considered it at the time, but he just . . . couldn't. Not with those big pink optics staring up at him, framed by finials so similar to his own. Those optics had been full of blind trust and love and innocence, all of it aimed towards _him_. Perhaps it had been a selfish decision, but Megatron just couldn't bring himself to let his creation go.

Would it have done Drift good, to have been raised by someone else? If he had been taken away from the gladiator pits, away from Kaon and the Decepticon cause, away from a carrier who resorted to violence just to keep them fed, would he have been different? Megatron had done everything he could to shield Drift from the world he was raised in, but in the end it hadn't been enough. Nothing was enough. Maybe he should have seen it coming, but how could he? Sure, Drift was volatile, a little too eager to harm and a little too apathetic towards the fallen, but Drift was his _sparkling_. Megatron looked at his face and saw the little bot that used to follow him around with stars in his optics, who used to sing off tune with Soundwave, and charm energon candies out of officers. How could someone so sweet, so young, so wonderful, ever truly be evil? Megatron told himself over and over it was simply a phase; he would grow, he would change, he would learn. And he did – in all the wrong ways. All the signs were there, and Megatron still refused to see the truth until Drift was already gone, slaughtering bots he'd known nearly all his life on the way out. Without even hesitating. Megatron couldn't hate him for it, though. No, not Drift, never Drift. He hated himself, though. He had failed as a creator, and he would never forgive himself for it.

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 **I was having a shit day so I decided to make it better by making Drift and Megatron miserable. Yay?**

 **Almost wrote another one of these based on _A Perfect Mistake_ where Megatron reacts to having a sparkling around again, but I was like, would anyone actually want my OCs mixed into this? And I was like nah. There will probably be more of these though. Might actually even write that one. I like Supernovae and Cloudjumper. Shrugs.**


End file.
